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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29036250">Jason Todd and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Decision</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/gunpowder_and_pearls/pseuds/gunpowder_and_pearls'>gunpowder_and_pearls</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Jason Todd but mostly whump [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Batman - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Mob, Alternate Universe - No Capes, Except its not a batmobile, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Jason Todd Needs A Hug, Jason Todd Steals the Batmobile Tires, Mob Boss Bruce Wayne, Street Rat Jason Todd, Swearing</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 04:54:13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,828</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29036250</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/gunpowder_and_pearls/pseuds/gunpowder_and_pearls</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a food chain in Crime Alley. </p><p>At the bottom there’s the working girls and boys, the runners, and the scavengers. Jason's one of them. </p><p>At the top, there's the Waynes.</p><p>Jason has spent his entire life avoiding them, boosting cars and sleeping in the darkest corners of Crime Alley in an effort to stay away from any and all gangs. </p><p>He never thought he'd end up trying to steal the tires off of Bruce Wayne's car.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Jason Todd but mostly whump [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2174127</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>531</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Jason Todd and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Decision</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">


        <li>
            Inspired by

            <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28641192">Godfather</a> by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/envysparkler/pseuds/envysparkler">envysparkler</a>.
        </li>

    </ul></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There’s a food chain in Crime <em>Alley.</em> </p><p> </p><p>Everyone knows this, it’s common knowledge, even if no one will acknowledge it outloud. </p><p> </p><p>At the bottom there’s the working girls and boys, the runners, and the scavengers. Next comes the brawlers, the members of gangs that are given such a low level position that they wander almost aimlessly, beating up and mugging anyone who crosses their paths. </p><p> </p><p>After them, the enforcers. They make sure that there isn’t anyone encroaching on their gang’s turf. Some of them have a sort of code, leaving kids and sex workers alone, or giving them a warning to stay out of their territory. </p><p> </p><p>Some of them don’t. Those are the ones that Jason avoids. </p><p> </p><p>There are various others that don’t fall into any category, changing between status and association rapidly. </p><p> </p><p>Next are the inner circles, the right-hand men and women who are the only reason the gangs and mob families continue to tick. They vary from psychopaths and pedophiles to enforcers with sharper minds than most professors, but they are always, <em> always, </em>deadly. </p><p> </p><p>At the top, there’s the bosses. People like the Penguin and Two-Face, who tear apart the alley regularly to get what they want. They recruit any who don’t slip into the shadows fast enough, but luckily, Jason knows every rooftop and twisting street like the back of his hand. </p><p> </p><p>The Waynes are wildcards. </p><p> </p><p>Everyone knows their stories. Bruce Wayne, child of Thomas and Martha Wayne. His parents took Gotham by storm, ruling with an iron fist. Thomas was the brains, cold and calculating as he negotiated deal after deal with gangs, somehow benefiting each time. Martha was different. At first, she was ignored, thought to be nothing but a pretty face, her only value being that she was of Wayne blood, instead of having married in, like Thomas. People learned very quickly not to underestimate her. </p><p> </p><p>Martha Wayne quickly became known for her less-than merciful assassinations. Any opposition the Waynes could’ve faced disappeared before it became a problem. </p><p> </p><p>Bruce was born with his father’s mind and his mother’s hands. </p><p> </p><p>When the Wayne couple fell to the gun of some trigger-happy goon, it was thought that the monopoly the Waynes had was gone. That Bruce, without his parents to raise him into violence, would lose the title of Prince of Gotham. That the Wayne territory could be divided up with no repercussions. </p><p> </p><p>Ten years later, when Bruce Wayne hunted down and publicly killed the man who murdered his parents, Gotham found out how wrong it had been. </p><p> </p><p>An orphan, a boy from the circus, was taken in by Bruce. And ‘Dick Grayson’ became yet another name to avoid. Grayson followed Bruce’s example, and Tony Zucco never saw him coming. The circus brat grew into someone who was more nightmare than man, a figure in the darkness that could beat you to death with its bare fists and keep smiling. </p><p> </p><p>Tim Drake came next. The heir to a company worth millions, he was everything a CEO in the making should be. Where Grayson strikes with fists, Drake hits harder, blackmail and bribes and threats falling from his lips, turning his opposition in circles until they have no choice but to do what he wants. </p><p> </p><p>The Commissioner’s daughter, Barbara Gordon was more of a surprise. Gotham became <em> her </em>city, and there is not a single secret that can be kept from her. When she appeared at the side of Dick Grayson at some gala or another, it was thought that she was being duped, manipulated. </p><p> </p><p>There are too many unsolved murders for her to be anything but deadly. </p><p> </p><p>No one knows much about the Shadow, and Jason would like to stay as far away from any information about her as possible. People who see her tend to have a habit of disappearing. </p><p> </p><p>Drake’s righthand woman, a blonde with a grin and an accent too feral to be anything but from the Narrows, is thought to be his bodyguard. But if you listen hard enough, you know that she’s far more than that. </p><p> </p><p>Damian Wayne, the only blood-child of Bruce Wayne, is deadly in the way that a gunshot is. Sometimes you hear him coming, sometimes you don’t, but you <em> never </em>see him. Not until it's too late. Jason’s heard that he favors knives. That he carries a katana and that his words are almost as sharp as his blades. He’s unpredictable and Gotham is still scrambling to figure him out. </p><p> </p><p>No one wants to get involved with the Waynes, least of all Jason. </p><p> </p><p>Which is why when he saw a car that was likely worth hundreds of thousands of dollars, parked in an alleyway, he should’ve turned around and walked away. </p><p> </p><p>He should’ve.</p><p> </p><p>Instead, he’s gotten two tires off, their rims neatly stacked by the wall, and is in the middle of removing a third. </p><p> </p><p>Jason slips four more bolts into his pocket, joining the ones he’d already taken from the other tires. There’s one bolt left and then he’ll be down three tires, with one to go. His fingers slip around the bolt and he swears under his breath, wiping his suddenly sweaty hand off on his jeans before trying again. </p><p> </p><p>“What are you doing?”</p><p> </p><p>Jason spins on his knees, rises into a kneel, tire iron raised to protect himself against any oncoming blows. He lowers it when he catches sight of the man at the end of the alley. He’s too far to do any damage without a gun and a coffee cup is in each hand. Jason would hear him if he went to draw a gun, and by the time the trigger was pulled, the sixteen year old would be long gone. </p><p> </p><p>He turns back to the bolt that is stubbornly resisting his attempts to loosen it. “What’s it look like ‘m doin’? I’m makin’ money and I ain’t about to share.” He darts a glance at the man, who at a second look seems to be rich, dressed in clothes that will get him mugged if he stands around for much longer. “So you can go ahead an’ fuck off.”</p><p> </p><p>The man laughs and Jason tenses, even as he begins to roll his third tire to join the other two. “Do you know who owns the car you’re jacking?” He asks, and Jason rolls his eyes. If some rich fuck is stupid enough to leave a car like <em> this </em>in a place called Crime Alley, they deserve to lose a tire or four. “That’s Bruce Wayne’s car.”</p><p> </p><p>The tire iron slips from Jason’s numb fingers and clatters on the ground. He’s frozen for a moment, survival warring against fear. Survival wins. He picks up the tire iron and starts to loosen the bolts on the final tire. He wills his hands to stop shaking. He’s not quite sure if it’s anxiety or hunger that is making them tremble. “Yeah, well, maybe he shoulda thought through parkin’ his car here.”</p><p> </p><p>If he moves fast enough, he can still get a tire or two away before Wayne comes back. And if the stranger with the coffee doesn’t squeal, Jason will end up able to stay a few nights in a motel with the money the tires will make him, maybe sleep on a real bed and take a hot shower. </p><p> </p><p>Jason misses hot showers.</p><p> </p><p>Then another person dressed too well for Crime Alley turns the corner and pauses next to the man with the coffees. The hair at his temples is gray, and his shoulders seem almost too broad for his coat. Jason tenses at the sheer <em> size </em>of him but doesn’t pause in his motions, loosening the bolt beneath his fingers as quickly as possible. The man takes one of the drinks and murmurs a thanks before turning to Jason. </p><p> </p><p>The sixteen year old grits his teeth when the older man starts talking. He knows that the elite tend to be airheads, out of touch with any reality that isn’t draped in plastic smiles and golden chandeliers, but he thought that they had <em> at least </em>enough sense to know better than to stand around in the Alley dressed like they belong in a magazine. </p><p> </p><p>“Did you prop that car up on bricks?” The older man’s voice is gravely but warm, amused. Jason nearly snarls in response. He isn’t here to be entertainment. </p><p> </p><p>“So what if I fuckin’ did?” Jason shoves another bolt into his pocket and moves to the next one. “Why do ya even care?”</p><p> </p><p>The younger one gestures at the car. “That’s worth over a million dollars.”</p><p> </p><p><em> Over one-fucking-million dollars? </em> Jason pauses, glances at the tires stacked behind him. If the car is worth that much, who knows how much the tires are worth. If he’s lucky, he might end up staying in a motel for a <em> week </em>. “And how would ya know that?” He’s hoping for them to blunder their way through explaining the model, if only so that he can repeat their words to whoever he ends up selling the tires to. </p><p> </p><p>Instead, he watches as the older man reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out a car key. He clicks it and the car next to Jason chirps. </p><p> </p><p>Jason drops the tire iron.</p><p> </p><p>He takes a stumbling step backwards - <em> oh god </em> - before freezing, remembering that the alley is a dead end. He reaches for his tire iron but stops before the motion can become obvious because <em> what kind of idiot jacks Bruce Wayne’s car and then goes to hit him with a goddamn tire iron. </em> </p><p> </p><p>He’s got to get out of here - <em> they’re blocking the only exit </em> - he’s got to run - <em> people who run from the Waynes end up in pieces </em> - maybe disappear - <em> no one can hide from them for long </em>--</p><p> </p><p>“I’m so sorry - I didn’ know it was <em> your car </em> when I found it - I.” Jason cuts himself off, because stumbling through an apology isn’t going to get him anywhere. Apologies don’t mean <em> jackshit </em> to mob bosses. Wayne moves forward and Jason steps backward automatically, and then goes rigid. He doesn’t move again as the man advances on him, the younger one following. </p><p> </p><p>Jason darts a glance at the alleyway entrance, at the freedom beyond. He’d have to be quick, faster than he’s ever moved before, to make it without being grabbed. He eyes the younger man, notices the lean muscle and long legs that didn’t register as a threat before, and crushes the idea of escape before it can grow much more. He’d never make it. </p><p> </p><p>His stomach is churning as snippets of his possible future whirl through his mind. Being killed quickly is barely within the realm of possibility, not with the way he mocked whoever Wayne’s friend is. Being trafficked is something that’s been a very real threat since the moment Jason began living on the streets, but he’s heard that Wayne doesn’t sell or touch kids. But Jason isn’t really a kid anymore. </p><p> </p><p>Maybe Wayne will call Grayson and he’ll end up beaten <em> nearly </em>to death, as a warning or a reminder to others that messing with Wayne’s stuff is not a good idea. </p><p> </p><p>Then the mob boss’ hand clamps down on his shoulder and every thought disappears from his head. Jason lets himself get pulled forward and doesn’t move when Wayne lets go. Jason has the vague realization that he’s trembling, knees nearly knocking together in an effort to remain upright. </p><p> </p><p>Bruce Wayne smiles slightly and Jason tenses all over again. A Wayne’s smile is never a good sign. </p><p> </p><p>“I-,” He tries, voice shaking harder than his body. “I didn’ know. I’ll make it up to ya, <em> please </em> - just don’t - I can put the tires back - <em> I didn’t know. </em>” Jason feels his throat tighten and he blinks, desperately trying to hold back his tears. No one likes it when he cries. </p><p> </p><p>Wayne’s smile disappears. “It’s alright, son. I’m not going to hurt you.” The kindness in Bruce Wayne’s eyes looks so real that Jason knows it’s fake. The man looks over his shoulder and nods at his friend, who begins to move to Wayne’s side. </p><p> </p><p>Jason shudders. <em> Wayne </em>won’t hurt him, but that doesn’t mean he won’t just stand back and watch as his friend does.</p><p> </p><p>“C’mere Dick.”</p><p> </p><p>The sixteen year old jolts, held in place only by the terror that is pinning his feet to the ground. He backtalked to Dick<em>-fucking-</em>Grayson<em>. There won’t even have a body to bury, </em>Jason realizes, watching Grayson approach. </p><p> </p><p>The younger man pauses, standing nearly shoulder to shoulder with Wayne. He watches Jason with a piercing gaze, eyes running up and down his body, and Jason shudders again. <em> Now he knows what’s going to happen </em> . <em> How he’s going to repay them.  </em></p><p> </p><p>Grayson takes another step forward, and Jason licks his lips before dropping to his knees. The cold ground is hell on his already bruised knees, but if this is what it takes to survive the next few minutes, then Jason can suffer through bruising his knees up a little bit more. </p><p> </p><p>Distantly, Jason realizes that he’s started shaking again. He looks up at the Waynes and watches as every single trace of warmth, faked or not, disappears from their faces. </p><p> </p><p>Wayne opens his mouth, then closes it. He’s furious and Jason nearly cringes away from the look on the man’s face as he stares down at him. Grayson looks equally angry, face twisted into an expression that sends a shiver down Jason’s spine. </p><p> </p><p>“What are you doing.” Wayne’s voice is flat, but Jason can hear the fury bubbling underneath. </p><p> </p><p>“M-Makin’ it up to ya.” The sixteen year old glances at his pile of rims and the tires leaning against the wall. He holds back the urge to hurl, tightening his hands into fists until his nails cut into his palms. The pain pulls him back from the haze of fear threatening to overwhelm him. He has to pay attention. “I’m apologizin’.” </p><p> </p><p>“Get up,” Grayson says. When Jason doesn’t move, he repeats himself, tone harsh and sharp. “<em> Get up. </em>”</p><p> </p><p>Jason scrambles to his feet and wraps his arms around himself. The bolts click together in his pocket and he freezes, praying that they ignore the reminder of what he did to the car. The car that is <em> Bruce Wayne’s </em> and is worth one <em> million </em>dollars. </p><p> </p><p>He watches them warily, eyes darting between them, not willing to look away from either for more than a second. </p><p> </p><p>Wayne runs a hand over his face, a motion much more human than that look he was wearing moments ago. “Where are your parents?” He asks, and his lips tighten at Jason’s trembling shake of his head. The man shares a glance with Grayson and then nods to himself, as if Jason’s answer had decided something. “Are you hungry?”</p><p> </p><p>“I -” Jason stutters, unable to find the words to respond. He nods silently, biting his cheek against the sobs that threaten to come out instead of an answer. He wonders if the question is some sort of a trick, if they’re going to take him and starve him further, right up until he’s <em> barely alive </em>, and then stick an IV in him and start all over again. </p><p> </p><p>The mob boss extends a hand. Jason looks at it, glances at Grayson, who’s watching without a trace of want or anticipation in his expression, and then back at the hand. He reaches out slowly and allows himself to be led to the sidewalk. He watches Wayne’s face, waiting for a spark of satisfaction, for a sign of what’s coming, but the man does nothing but look at him with warmth in his eyes. </p><p> </p><p>Jason shoots a look over his shoulder, eyes wide as he watches Dick Grayson begin to roll a tire towards the car. Quickly, before he can be moved another step, the sixteen year old stuffs his hand into his pocket and then reaches out to the other man, bolts clenched in his first. </p><p> </p><p>“Here,” he says, and is proud of the way his voice <em> barely </em>shakes. “Ya need these.”</p><p> </p><p>Grayson grins and lets Jason dump the screws into his hand. “Thank you.” His voice is filled with something different than amusement, something closer to the tone Jason’s mom used to talk to him in. </p><p> </p><p>Jason lets himself be led down the block, one hand dwarfed by Bruce Wayne’s huge one in a gentle grip. They’re almost to the corner when Wayne pauses. “Are burgers alright?” The man asks. </p><p> </p><p>“Huh?” Jason looks up at the man and sees nothing but seriousness lining his features. “Y-Yeah, burgers are good.” </p><p> </p><p>Wayne nods in response and they begin walking again. Jason still isn’t sure how he got into this situation, how he went from jacking Bruce Wayne’s car to being <em> sure </em> that he was about to die, and now he’s being led to somewhere to get <em> burgers.  </em></p><p> </p><p>He doesn’t know how long this miracle is going to last, but he’ll take it for as long as he can get it.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Bruce (internally): yessss another orphan to adopt and protect and teach how to kill</p><p>Jason: I know this can't be real so I'll just enjoy this burger and pretend like I'm not gonna get horribly murdered for trying to steal some tires</p></blockquote></div></div>
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